His voice is high-pitched and girlish. During the last war with Invierne, he was barely more than a boy when his service brought him an injury that left him a eunuch. But it also brought him the king’s favor, which resulted in his appointment as my steward. I haven’t had a nurse since Elisa was born. Papá knew by the time I could walk that I would be like a son to him, and only a personal steward would do.

I look around, trying to see what Zito sees. Though he is prone to these impromptu teaching moments, he has never been so graceless as to instruct me within hearing of my entire entourage. Whatever he has noticed must be very important indeed.

The fields are plowed but barren, with only a few sickly sprouts poking from the soil. The pastures are still brown from winter. On the terraced slopes that rise beyond, orchards that should be covered in blossoms show only stunted blooms. The trees covering the hills are a web of bony branches, yet to bud.

“Spring is a tardy guest to its mountain home,” I say.

“Spring does not arrive this late,” he says, and his words would not alarm me were it not for the deadly seriousness in his voice.

“A drought?” I say.

He straightens and brushes the dirt from his hands, then holds his palms out so I can see the muddy streaks. It is far from drought-dusty.

“The last time I saw fields like this, it was damage of my own doing,” he says. “I salted a village the Inviernos settled on our side of the mountains. But there is no taste of salt here.”

“So what is causing it?”

He shrugs, but I know it is not the casual gesture it appears. “We should discuss it later,” he says. Privately, he means.

My gaze sweeps the mountainsides again, and now the rocky outcrops and dense stands of naked trees seem ominous.

Zito remounts and gestures the column forward, commanding them toward Khelia Castle with all haste. I sit back on the bench, lost in thought. No wonder the people seem so desperate and distrustful. How long have their fields been bare? Perhaps they’ve been feeling the sting of the king’s neglect even more than I realized. And maybe open carriages, which provide access even to small children, were a bad idea after all.

Chapter 2

2

WE have only a single league left to travel, but it takes hours over these poor roads. I’m so eager to reach Khelia and ask the conde about the blight on his land that I would abandon the carriages and supply wagons to ride ahead if I could. Alas, my sister fears horses and would rather cut off an arm than ride any distance.